An Extended Saturday
by Angel of Music lover
Summary: A look at a typical Saturday for Jonathon and Timothy after high school. Contains quibbles, sports, choreography, and somewhat innocent alone time. No longer a oneshot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I want to start out by admitting that I'm a bit nervous about this oneshot. I haven't seen the film **_**all**_** the way through yet, but I've seen the majority of it and love it, so much that I actually went looking for a FanFic section for it. :) So please be kind and if you are reading this, please review and let me know how faithful you found it. Thanks!**

Dating someone in a different school didn't seem to leave much time for spending together. Between high-pressure classes, sport practices, drama rehearsals, and everything in between, there almost isn't time for casual downtime. At least, this is what Timothy and Jonathon quickly found out once they became official. Sure, there was the occasional party or two they could meet up for, but Timothy didn't like drinking and Jonathon was trying to cut down for Timothy's sake.

They both noticed at the same time. They weren't seeing each other now that they went to different schools. And it was affecting their relationship.

It was Timothy who suggested the Saturday date day. He was pretty confident he could finish any homework before then (and if he didn't he would pretend that he did) and Jonathon tentatively believed that the coach would let him out of most of the rare Saturday rugby practices (he wasn't on the main team in his first year of college, after all).

Usually, they would try to meet somewhere in between (there was only an hour or so distance between them, less with Jonathon's driving techniques) until that stopped working out. A week without seeing each other, sometimes longer if things hadn't worked out the week before, and the last thing the two wanted to do was stay in the public eye. So, they began driving the full distance to the other's dorm, arriving early and leaving late.

This Saturday was no different. Jonathon left at 8 in the morning, ignoring the jests of his roommate that he was off to go see _that boy_ again and also ignoring the questions of when Timothy might be coming around again. Timothy's dorm had become the much more frequent choice for their dates because his dorm room was empty (_his_ roommate was often off visiting with his druggie friends and would be absent for the rest of the weekend).

Jonathon drove for an hour (speeding the whole way), slipped into a relatively small dorm behind some residents and then burst into the room furthest down the second floor without bothering to knock. Timothy leapt to his feet, giving Jonathon an enthusiastic hug and affectionate kiss, murmuring about how much he missed him.

The next step was eminent. Fifteen minutes after Jonathon's arrival, they were sitting on Timothy's couch in front of the television and having, what their friends called, a _Timothy and Jonathon Quibble_.

"It's my turn," Jonathon was saying. "It was yours last week and now it's _my_ turn."

"I wasn't aware that there were turns involved," Timothy argued, a little grumbly, but knew that it had been an unspoken Saturday Rule. He took a deep, resigned sigh and sent a regretful look towards the television. "Couldn't you at least pick something _besides_ sports? You _know_ I don't get it."

"You know," Jonathon began sarcastically, reaching for the remote and ignoring Timothy's dark glare, "For someone who hates sports so much you managed to show up to every school game last year."

Timothy smiled, catching Jonathon's eye. "I like watching _you _play sports," he corrected with about as much innocence as such a comment warranted.

Jonathon smirked, playing along and cocking one of his eyebrows. "Well, I can't blame you. _I _would watch me play sports, too."

Timothy snorted loudly, shooting Jonathon a disbelieving look. "Oh, that's my vain little Jonny." Timothy thought he caught a bit of a blush on Jonathon's neck at the joke, which put butterflies in the pit of his own stomach. How could he complain about sports _now_?

"Let's just get this over with," he sighed, scooting closer to Jonathon so he could put his head on his shoulder. He had to stretch his significantly longer legs out, slide a little further down the so he was practically on his side, and then finally tuck his legs underneath him to accomplish this. It was a downside of being significantly taller than his boyfriend, but not one that bothered either of them. Suddenly, Timothy frowned. "Your shoulder is so bony."

"I think you mean muscular," Jonathon reminded him, flipping the television on. Timothy didn't contradict and Jonathon definitely noticed.

Jonathon finally settled on a tennis match and then set the remote far from where Timothy could reach. He'd learned from experience that Timothy was much sneakier than he seemed at first glance. It didn't help that Jonathon seemed to go into a trance once the sports were on, either. He would be wrapped up in the last five minutes of a game and then Timothy would be holding the remote and searching for cartoons in no time.

Two minutes into the match, Timothy felt himself getting restless. True to form. He watched the female players smack the ball back and forth with heavy lidded eyes, wondering what the scoring system even meant (it seemed there were _so_ many ways to lose points and no clear format). It all happened too fast, if you asked him.

It didn't take long, though, for Timothy to find a certain rhythm in the beating of the tennis ball. It made such a resonating, steady sound that it was impossible to ignore. Soon, the eager back and forth movements the players made while waiting for the ball to come to their court seemed like a dance movement, carefully choreographed and full of surprises to catch the audience's eye.

Before he knew it, Timothy was seeing high kicks, graceful leaps into the air, fluid spins, and powerful swings. He wasn't paying attention to the score but instead finding the rhythm of music and dance right in front of him on the court. He was reminded, once again, of the power that athletes possessed and was once more in awe of it, wishing that he could find that kind of rhythm. His eyes had become focused and he wasn't participating in his usual bored habits (like finger tapping, flicking Jonathon's shoulder, getting up to get water every five minutes, etc.)

"Are you actually paying attention?" Jonathon asked in surprise, peering down at Timothy's face that still rested on his shoulder. It had been fifteen minutes and he expected Timothy to be complaining again. The bemused, comical, and (in Timothy's humble opinion) adorable expression on Jonathon's face immediately yanked Timothy out of the dream.

"Sort of," Timothy replied dismissively, sending a rather toothy grin Jonathon's way.

Jonathon narrowed his eyes knowingly and then smiled back. He knew this expression on Timothy's face well. "Well, as long as you're enjoying it I don't feel so bad."

"Who's winning?" Timothy asked, suddenly determined to become more involved in this viewing process.

"The blonde," Jonathon didn't bother with saying her name, it would probably only confuse Timothy more. "But only by a little bit. She seems to be getting tired, too."

Timothy paused, watching the screen without such a dreamy expression. "I like her best," he decided. "I want her to win."

Jonathon chuckled, wrapping an arm around Timothy's waist casually. He noticed Timothy's smile at the gesture and promised himself to do things like this more often. He'd never been the type of guy that liked a lot of physical contact in a relationship, but for Timothy he didn't mind. Not at all.

"You know that I don't mind watching sports as much as I pretend to, right?" Timothy questioned. "I mean, you like it and everything so I don't want you to think that I hate what you like because that's ridiculous—"

"Timothy," Jonathon interjected, still trying to keep track of the game. "You can like whatever you want." He was getting used to Timothy's insecurities, his fears that he might be too clingy or too demanding. He found it useful to just be blatant about how he felt and save Timothy some misery.

"Okay. I'm just making sure you know. Sorry." He looked a little embarrassed, so Jonathon tried not to tease him about it. It never went that well to tease, Timothy was kind of sensitive.

Timothy was quiet after that, his bout of nervous energy spent and it seemed he was focusing on the players again.

The game cut to a commercial, and something in a jingle for a product seemed to catch Timothy's attention. Then, he was smirking, and Jonathon knew that it probably didn't mean anything good.

"Do you know what's gonna be on HBO next weekend?" Timothy asked, looking just a little too excited. Jonathon internally groaned, knowing where this was going now.

"What?" Jonathon asked, trying to keep the tone of his voice even and uninterested.

"_Repo! The Genetic Opera_." Timothy gave Jonathon a moment to let that sink in before going on. "And as long as we're using this _turns_ system…"

Jonathon tried not to groan dramatically, that was Timothy's thing and not his. "Is there singing?" he asked, and there was no way to hide that hint of reluctance in his voice.

"Well of course," Timothy rolled his eyes, obviously referring to the fact that the word 'opera' was in the title. "But it's nice and bloody, which I thought might keep your attention."

Jonathon paused. "… It's bloody?"

Timothy chuckled, moving his head so that his chin was now on Jonathon's shoulder. "The first time I watched it I had nightmares," he promised. "And that was only last year."

Jonathon was quiet, watching a commercial. "See, there you go making me feel guilty about this tennis game, you cheater," he said, sounding quite upset and causing Timothy to break into incredible, shaking laughter.

"It's my nature," Timothy teased, "And you love me anyway."

"You got that right."

Again, that hint of blush was on Jonathon's neck and Timothy could feel his own redness traveling further up his face. He wouldn't say it was from embarrassment, but merely from happiness.

"So, singing, huh?" Jonathon said once the game came back on, smiling a little. "I guess it's only fair."

"You know," Timothy started, an easy grin slipping on his face, "For a guy who hates singing so much you sure stuck through that musical last year."

"Well," and Timothy could tell that he was going to say something cheesy from the way Jonathon broke into a rare, goofy smile, "I like listening to _you _sing."

Timothy couldn't bring himself to play along as Jonathon had before about the sports, finding that he was just a little too shy for that. Instead, he just picked up his hand and gently brushed it over Jonathon's, which was still occupying Timothy's waist, in a gesture of appreciation. Jonathon, however, caught Timothy's fingers and intertwined them, rubbing their palms together affectionately.

"I love you," Jonathon said sincerely. "I don't think I tell you that often enough, but I really do."

Timothy looked down at their hands, still stuck together, and nodded. "I know. And I love you, too."

Jonathon smirked. "For the record, being in love with _me_ and being in love with my ridiculously hot body are two different things."

"Oh, shut up," Timothy snapped, liking the banter. He turned to make some kind of retort before suddenly stopping short.

Looking at Jonathon, he experienced a feeling that had not been so intense since the two of them had been in high school. It wasn't that he had forgotten, but was merely being reminded of just how gorgeous Jonathon really was. And he remembered the new things he had learned to love, like the way Jonathon tilted his head a little to the side when watching something very interesting or how his jaw periodically clenched and unclenched. He didn't think that he'd been so blissfully happy but then realized that Jonathon almost always had this effect on him.

Overcome with affection, Timothy leaned his head only slightly forward, intending to kiss his boyfriend senseless and pry his eyes away from that damn television. However, he was met halfway as apparently Jonathon had the same thing in mind. The initial surprise didn't last long for Timothy. Not wanting to be outdone, he took charge by reaching out to cup Jonathon's jaw, sufficiently pulling him closer. He had grown to enjoy being brave in the relationship.

"If we keep this up," Jonathon warned as Timothy pulled away for a moment, "Then I get extra sports next weekend to make up for it."

"That's okay," Timothy replied, starting to kiss the side of Jonathon's mouth. Then, smiling into Jonathon's lips, he added, "Aren't there better sports on Sundays, anyway?"

"Are you asking me to stay over, Mr. Schoolwork?" Jonathon teased, now turning entirely away from the television to pay better attention to Timothy.

Timothy laughed, quieter than before. "Would you refuse?" Then, "It could be like an extended Saturday."

"Sounds perfect. I love Saturdays."


	2. A Mysterious Injury

**A/N: Wow, I got a lot of great feedback from reviewers. :) Thanks so much! There were lots of requests for a sequel, which I'm **_**kind of**_** going to do. I decided that I might just have various oneshots, most of which will take place on a Saturday date to keep with the theme. **

**Does this seem like a good idea? Also, do you think I should do another fluffy oneshot or more of a serious oneshot for the next chapter? I have ideas for both. ;)**

**Please review! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Were The World Mine**_

Jonathon winced when he got up from his couch to greet Timothy. This alone was enough to make Timothy very suspicious. Then, Jonathon hesitated before returning Timothy's affectionate hug, which was also very unusual. And with Timothy's powers of observation he noticed that Jonathon hesitated before sinking back into the couch.

He knew it. That boy cut himself up at practice again.

Timothy flopped into the available space next to Jonathon. "So, how has rugby been going?" he asked innocently, knowing in his gut that there was a reason he never liked rugby. Jonathon shrugged, a subtle movement much more restrained than his usual exaggerated movements.

"Pretty good." Jonathon paused, apparently trying to think of a good story. Timothy waited patiently and tried not to act like he was hanging on every word. "I made a good block yesterday," Jonathon finally said. "This great big huge guy was rushing my buddy, but I stopped him."

"Oh, that's good. My tough guy," Timothy grinned, elbowing Jonathon gently in the side. He saw Jonathon tense and frowned again. "It didn't hurt, did it?"

Jonathon shook his head but didn't quite meet Timothy's gaze. A dead give-away. "Nah, not really. I've got a bit of a bruise, but what else is new?"

"You always have bruises." Timothy knew that his tone was borderline nag and forced himself to stop short. He could tell that Jonathon wasn't in the mood and he wouldn't get anywhere if he pissed Jonathon off.

Still, he wanted some answers. He just knew that Jonathon was hiding something, and usually when Jonathon had something to hide it had to do with an injury he didn't want Timothy to worry about. Timothy had learned better than to ask out-right and had taken to craftier methods of getting Jonathon to be honest.

"What do you say we do something else?" Timothy asked as Jonathon reached for the television remote. His hand hovered over the remote as he digested this suggestion. "I was thinking we could play a board game or… doesn't your dorm have a foosball thing set up downstairs?"

Jonathon looked shocked and, honestly, reluctant. "You don't have to do that, Tim. I know you hate foosball. And board games make you twitchy." Timothy found himself frowning when Jonathon sent a casual wink his direction. "We can just sit and watch T.V."

Timothy stared at Jonathon for a moment, who pretended not to notice, as he tried to think of some other test to confirm his suspicions. Now he was almost positive that Jonathon was hurting badly. He was never this gallant when it came to protecting Timothy's interests. In fact, Jonathon would usually jump at the chance to get Timothy to do something active for a change instead of continuing to sit on the couch like a lazy bum. It was usually a source of argument between the two of them.

"I'm just tired, Timothy," Jonathon wearily tried to explain, unable to bear the staring anymore. "Now, don't stare at me. It's kind of creepy."

"Sorry," Timothy mumbled, a little offended. He knew he shouldn't be offended, but such a remark usually stung.

Jonathon noticed and winced guiltily. "I'm just not in a very good mood," he sighed. "I fucked up my English exam and now I'm going to have to do weeks of extra credit to keep my grade passing." He shrugged with a wide motion and then noticeably flinched, jerking his shoulder back down to an even level. "Sorry, Tim. It's not your fault."

"Oh my god!" Timothy exclaimed, briefly forgetting about Jonathon's physical woes when presented with this new information "That's awful, Jonathon. Why didn't you say anything?" Jonathon just shrugged again, back to the subtle movement instead of the exaggerated one. "I'm so sorry." Instinctually, Timothy started to scoot closer to take Jonathon's hand or rest his head on Jonathon's shoulder.

It was in this motion that Timothy got an awful, terrible idea. He glanced down at Jonathon's side, which Jonathon was unconsciously protecting by keeping his arm pressed firmly against his ribcage, and knew the perfect way to expose the injury.

Timothy got a little closer, now in a good position to press his nose against the side of Jonathon's head if he wanted. He leaned forward and kissed Jonathon's neck, lightly, and brought a hand up the length of Jonathon's arm. He was sure to be careful, not wanting to make Jonathon hurt too much, but couldn't help but smile when he felt Jonathon jump in surprise.

"What are you doing?" Jonathon demanded, trying to keep very still.

Timothy chuckled. "I just feel bad that you had such an awful week. Maybe I'm trying to make you feel better." Jonathon swallowed and turned his head a little to face Timothy again. He kissed Timothy carefully, almost completely distracting Timothy from his goal.

"That's really sweet of you," Jonathon said, smiling honestly for the first time that afternoon. "I'm so lucky to have a guy like you around. But I'm really—"

Timothy quickly shut Jonathon up by returning his lips back to Jonathon's neck. He knew that the next words out of Jonathon's mouth would try and deter Timothy from his goal and this was probably his last chance. He pressed even closer against Jonathon, relentless, and experienced wonderful victory when he felt Jonathon give up trying to control himself and twist to meet Timothy head-on.

The result took the both of them by surprise. Jonathon sucked his breath in so loudly it was almost like a shout and tried to push Timothy off of him (but ended up pushing him of the couch). In a second, Jonathon had jerked back into an upright position, nearly gasping for air. As Timothy regained his balance, Jonathon quickly clutched his ribs with shaky hands.

"I knew it!" Timothy shouted, almost feeling giddy with having his suspicions confirmed. However, when he tried to climb back onto the couch Timothy was a little horrified, though mostly ashamed, to see that Jonathon's face had turned an awful shade of gray and that his teeth were gritted tightly against pain. This wasn't one of the usual injuries, Timothy could tell right away.

"What's wrong?" Timothy demanded, hesitantly coming close again. He was no longer smiling. "Jonathon, what the fuck is going on?"

Jonathon opened one eye warily before clamping it shut again. "It's nothing. I just got a little banged up in practice, like I said. Don't worry about it."

Timothy snorted in disbelief, gently moved Jonathon's hands, and then pulled Jonathon's shirt up almost over his head. There, he saw the proof for himself. A pitch-black bruise ran from Jonathon's waist up to his rib area. Two of the ribs seemed to be pushing out a little further than the others.

"Jonathon!" Timothy didn't even care that he sounded like a nag. "Jonathon, you _have_ to go to an emergency room. You might have broken something!" Timothy shook his head in disbelief. He had been hoping for a cut or a gash, nothing too serious. Now he was starting to have a full panic attack. "This is _so _irresponsible! How long have you been like this?"

Jonathon ignored the question. "If I get laid up I could lose my sport scholarship," he snapped, yanking his shirt back down and was nearly immobile once more from the pain of the action. To this, he could only let out a disgruntled groan while he tried to recover.

Timothy tried his best to ignore the pained sound. He took a deep breath and attempted to push his hysteria to the side. For once, it worked. "Maybe you only cracked them," he tried to reason, his voice strained but calm. "That takes no time at all to heal, I swear. You just… you have to get this looked at."

Jonathon looked like he might come up with some other excuse for Timothy to be wrong. However, he just sagged in defeat, looking more helpless than Timothy had ever seen him. "I know," he managed to reply, the color coming in small increments back to his face.

Timothy saw this acceptance and was more than a little surprised. Jonathan was usually so against visiting doctors or hospitals that he would walk around with a sprained ankle all day without a complaint. It was something that Timothy himself had never quite understood. He decided not to gloat about his victory, though. Instead, Timothy just managed to put on an encouraging smile and stood up from the couch.

"Come on, let's get your ass up," Timothy instructed, taking a hold of Jonathon's good arm. Wincing, Jonathon allowed himself to be pulled up and nearly fell forward onto Timothy once he was. Instead of righting himself, however, Jonathon leaned against Timothy for a minute, completely relaxed. Timothy froze, a little unsure of what to do or what exactly was going on. For a moment he feared that Jonathon had completely passed out.

"I don't know what I would do without you bitching at me all the time," Jonathon sighed. He never knew that he could be so grateful for something so annoying. "Thanks."

Timothy managed an amused smile at Jonathon's expense. "You'd probably be laying on the floor when your roommate came back, complaining how you haven't been able to get up for food or water for two days," Timothy answered, rubbing Jonathon's good shoulder comfortingly. "You're so stubborn."

Jonathon gave a muffled agreement and nearly laughed. The sharp sting of pain held back the laughter, however, and he remembered that he had to keep his upper body still. He managed to pull himself back away from Timothy by himself but let Timothy support him as they headed for the door.

"So, any chance that this'll convince you to give up rugby?" Timothy asked hopefully as he fished around his jean pocket for his car keys. He wanted to be prepared before heading down the stairs. Also, this familiar action helped calm him so he wouldn't start screaming at Jonathon again.

"Not a chance," Jonathon grinned, enjoying the joke. Timothy was always good at making him laugh, even when he was in the worst of moods. "Nice try, though."

"Yeah, well, I can always hope," Timothy sighed, maneuvering the two of them out the door.

Jonathon pulled the door shut and then realized he would have to hobble down the endless hallway, which led to an endless staircase, and suppressed a groan. This was going to be painful. He decided to try and keep in a good mood he would try and make Timothy blush, a move that was a little petty but mostly born out of amusement.

"Hey, by the way," Jonathon began as he limped down the hallway with Timothy. "Nice going with the whole seduction thing." Timothy choked a little, nearly losing his grip on Jonathon's waist. "You're sneaky."

"A guy's got to do what he has to do," Timothy defended himself, feeling a little sheepish. He knew he was blushing but decided there was nothing to be done about it. He also decided not to be apologetic. "It was the only way to get you distracted enough to expose yourself." Jonathon chuckled a little, obviously agreeing.

Once they approached the staircase, however, Jonathon stopped laughing. He stared down the stairs and then looked imploringly up at his boyfriend. "What if I promised to stay in bed for two weeks instead of going to the doctor?"

Timothy shook his head firmly. "I refuse."

Jonathon sighed, rolled his eyes a little, and then bravely made it down his first step. It was painful but he managed to keep from yelping again. "Three weeks?" Timothy smirked and shook his head. "You're killing me."

"Come on you big baby," Timothy encouraged, taking the step with Jonathon. "It won't be so bad."

They made it down several more steps in a concentrated silence. Jonathon was staring down at the upcoming steps worriedly, taking each one with a calculated and careful step. Timothy was full concentrated on Jonathon, trying to determine how much support would be needed for each stair.

"You'll stick around, right?" Jonathon suddenly asked, wincing as he took another step while Timothy tried his best to brace against him. "When we get to the hospital, I mean. Do you have to leave?"

Timothy shook his head and smiled, happy to know that Jonathon wanted him there. "I was planning on being here all day anyway." He squeezed Jonathon's hand when he nearly stumbled going down the third step and let out a great hiss of pain.

"Good." Jonathon waited to continue until after he had successfully gone down the next step. "Doctors freak me out."

Timothy had to strangle a single, hysterical laugh. He sensed it wasn't a laughing matter. "Well, that explains a lot."

Jonathon just got closer to Timothy for support and grunted an affirmative.


End file.
